Unofficial SHIELD Recruit Handbook
by SPT
Summary: The title pretty much says it all; just a little bit of fun.
1. Chapter 1

This was inspired by those of you who created previous rulebooks, hope you don't mind but this is a slightly different take on it. The indented points are additional comments made by recruits, unfortunately I couldn't figure out how to keep the various texts. As always, I don't own any of the characters, not making any money, etc.

First Avengers fic. Please read and review.

* * *

**Unofficial (Mandatory) Handbook for S.H.I.E.L.D. Recruits**

**To be read and memorized by all recruits.**

1. If Tony Stark asks to "borrow you for a minute", find somewhere else to be- fast. Scratch that, with the exception of Captain Rogers, if any of the Avengers ask to borrow you, sprint- don't run- in the opposite direction.

- Even Rogers isn't 100% safe

2. Don't piss off Agent Romanoff; if she doesn't maim or kill you, Agent Barton will.

- …or just use you as manual propulsion for his moving targets when he tests his new explosive arrow heads

- that rule applies if you reverse the names too

3. Don't touch, look at, be in the vicinity of, breath on or even think about Mjolnir… Thor will know.

- Just ask Agent Martin- he didn't get that white streak in his hair naturally

- Same goes for Agent Barton's bow

- And Captain Rogers' shield

- And Stark's suit

- We get the point

4. Do NOT leave Thor or Captain Rogers alone with a microwave; it won't end well.

- Dunno, the blue lightning ball that one made was pretty cool

- Yeah, but Fury threatened to stop replacing them

5. Don't take bets when Agents Romanoff and Barton spar against each other; you will become their next practice dummy.

- …or just don't let them see you

- you're kidding right, those two see everything

6. Never take the last box of Coco Puffs; Dr. Banner will "Hulk out" and you will be putting the ship back together by yourself.

- Same goes for the Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies

7. Do not discuss your one night stand or friend with benefits in front of Captain Rogers. He will turn an amazing shade of red then subject you to an hour long rant on the immorality of today's society before falling into a week long depression.

- Be prepared to have "really bad luck" during that week

8. Don't try to reprogram JARVIS; it won't work.

- And either Stark or that damn AI will figure out it was you

- I had cold showers for a month

9. Ladies, do not try to flirt with Captain Rogers or Agent Barton. Rogers will just think you're being nice and Agent Romanoff will kill you in your sleep.

- Thor and Stark are off limits too; Pepper and Jane may look petite, but they are the girlfriends of Avengers after all

- Be afraid, be very afraid

- Guys feel free to flirt with Agent Romanoff, just be prepared for the rest of the Avengers to laugh their asses off at you

* * *

-fin?


	2. Chapter 2

**Unofficial (Mandatory) Handbook for S.H.I.E.L.D. Recruits- 2nd Edition**

10. Don't let Tony Stark convince you to get Thor or Captain Rogers drunk. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't pay you enough to cover the bar tab.

- Same goes for Agent Romanoff; that chick can hold her vodka. (don't tell her I called her a chick)

- Stark, Barton and Banner are all lightweights though.

11. Do not get in the middle of the Avengers' prank wars. It doesn't matter who started it, all evidence will point straight to you by the time Fury finds out about it.

- Barton and Stark are the usual suspects but all of them end up involved.

- Even Thor's getting better at it; did you see Stark's hair- it almost matched the red of his suit.

- Pretty sure Banner was in on that one too.

12. Don't touch/move anything in Dr. Banner's lab, unless of course you want to be something other than a normal human (and not in a good way).

- Not to mention, the Doc is OCD as all hell about his lab.

13. Don't bother trying to beat Captain Roger's at video games (doesn't matter which one), his enhanced reflexes more than make up for his not having grown up with them.

- Thought I had him when he said he'd never played WoW, still got my ass handed to me.

- Besides the reflexes, the guy is the best strategist I've ever seen… so not fair.

14. Whether its your job or not, if you notice we are out of heavy punching bags, archery targets, firearm targets, chocolate ice cream, coffee, chamomile tea, fire extinguishers, replacement windows or first aid kits- find a way to order more ASAP!

- Agent Hill is a good contact for all of the above.

15. Do not tell Director Fury about Agent Barton's cat. She's as sharp as her owner, will do serious damage if she doesn't like you but is the best therapy in the world if she does.

- Think she followed him home after a bad mission

- That little furball and Agent Romanoff are probably the only two things that tether Barton to his humanity, especially after Loki.

- Agent Coulson used to feed her when Barton was gone, but I think Hill took over in his memory.

- She's as sneaky as Barton too, loves high places, watch your ears.

- Fury probably already knows about her but nobody wants to risk it.

16. If Agent Romanoff is aloof and slightly cold- that's a good sign, it means she likes you. If she's nice- be wary, it means she wants something from you and you're probably not going to like it.

- The one exception is if you give her chocolate ice cream; she was nice to me for three days after that.

17. Do not laugh at the dozens of stuffed animals on Thor's bed, in his locker or the one he keeps in his pocket; they were presents from Jane.

- Enough said.

18. Never bet on the relationship status of Agents Barton and Romanoff; no one will ever know the truth so you'll never be able to collect.

- And when, not if, they find out about it, they'll completely screw with you just for the hell of it.

- Stark's been trying since he met Agent Romanoff. If the genius, playboy, philanthropist, billionaire can't figure it out, you don't have a prayer.

19. Don't purposely try to confuse Captain Rogers and Thor with pop culture references. That's Stark's job and he takes it personally if anyone else tries.

- The key word there is purposely… you'll end up confusing them no matter what.

If you haven't figured it out yet, the Avengers have melded into the weirdest family unit you will ever encounter. It's probably the main reason they're so effective. There will be times you'll wonder if they are actually trying to kill each other; they are the only one's allowed to pick on each other and God help anyone who tries to hurt one of the family. If you're lucky, you'll be added in as a distant cousin.

* * *

fin?


	3. Chapter 3

**Zelda12343 suggested I write "reasons" for some of the rules, and I admit that it was a great idea. So, this first snippet is for rule #1 and may or may not end up being three parts. Hope you enjoy and please review.**

**Snippet #1A:**

"Hey you. Yes, you with the ridiculously bewildered look on your face, I need to borrow you for a second."

Jeff Adams swallowed self-consciously and did his best to school his features into something other than a bewildered look; still unable to believe that THE Tony Stark was actually speaking to him. Adams had been a fully fledged S.H.I.E.L.D. analyst for all of three days which meant that unfortunately he hadn't been around long enough to recognize that maniacal gleam in Stark's eye. "Um, ok."

"Fantastic! Follow me," Stark released an annoyed sigh when the kid didn't move immediately. "Ok, following me involves actually moving, one foot in front of the other, there you go."

Tony ducked back into the lab he'd been working in, confident that the kid had finally figured out how to move his feet. He picked up his latest project; he'd gotten the idea from Romanoff's bracelets- a short controlled burst of electricity from his gauntlets. It would have helped him take out Thor the first time they met, not that he was planning to take out Thor now but you never know. He handed the alligator clamp to Adams, "When I tell you to, connect this to the red terminal over there."

Adams may have been new to S.H.I.E.L.D. but he hadn't gotten there by being an idiot. "Uh, are you sure this is safe?"

Stark rolled his eyes, "you're killing me Smalls! Of course it's safe; hello, genius over here." He moved back over to the tablet and made a couple last minute calculations and additions to the program. "Alright, and go."

Still not sure why he was trusting Stark on this, Adams reached out with the clamp- and promptly flew across the room.

"Huh, well that's interesting."

The junior analyst looked up in disbelief… interesting? He was still trying to make sure his heart was actually beating after a jolt like that, not to mention the intense tingling sensation that had engulfed his entire right arm. It only took the span of a couple seconds for the feeling to return to his arm and he was immediately wishing it hadn't as he finally noticed the deep burns etched across his palm.

Stark looked up from his intense scrutiny of the tablet, surprised to see Adams still slouched against the wall. "Right, well, thanks for the help." With that Stark hurried from the lab, excited to get Banner's opinion on the readouts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Snippet #1B**

Three days later and Adams was still avoiding the Science Wing like the plague. The nurse that had dressed the burns on his right hand had only laughed hysterically for two full minutes before explaining that it was best to avoid Tony Stark at all costs. Jeff managed to keep the "no shit Sherlock" comment to himself as he'd slunk out of the medical ward.

Unfortunately, detouring around the Science Wing meant he ended up walking through the armory a lot, and today was no exception. Luckily for him there only happened to be one other person in the armory. He'd admired Agent Barton ever since the man had taught surveillance in his recruit training; all S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits received the same training regime before they were vectored into the best career path. The man never missed a shot and definitely had the coolest head in the game. He knew a lot of the other recruits thought the use of bow and arrows was ridiculous in light of all the innovative technology S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to, but he secretly thought it was awesome. Seriously, the bow took significantly more skill than any gun especially at the distances Agent Barton shot from.

Today it looked like Barton was just finishing testing some new arrowheads. Jeff watched in awe as Hawkeye released three arrows in quick succession, each one hitting the target in the exact middle of the bullseye. Two seconds latter all three of the targets had completely disintegrated.

"Wow."

Barton turned to face his audience with a small smile and self-deprecating shrug, "Not much to it." He wandered over to the workbench where he had various types of arrowheads laid out. "Hey, you got a minute?"

"Sure." The word was out of his mouth before he even had a chance to consider the ramifications of the last time he'd agreed to help one of the Avengers. But this was Agent Barton, there's no way this could turn out as badly as the time he'd spent with Stark, right?

"Great. Real easy, just need 17 of each arrowhead from the group while I load them into the quiver. Just, you know, be gentle," he gestured vaguely to the pile of newer arrowheads he'd just been testing.

Adams's common sense was screaming at him to run away as fast as possible, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and stand his ground. Agent Barton ran around jumping off of buildings with these on his back, how volatile could they really be?

"Jeff Adams, right?"

Adams looked up in surprise, "yeah, good memory."

"Kinda comes with the job," he shrugged, loading another arrowhead into the quiver. "Careful with that pile; they're-

"BARTON!"

Adams nearly jumped out of his skin at the very unlady-like bellow the echoed down the hall; he did reflexively tighten his fist around the arrowhead in his hand accidently depressing the small red button.

Hearing his name roared in anger was nothing new to Clint, so thankfully he had the presence of mind to realize that Adams had just armed the rather powerful explosive in the arrowhead he'd been holding leaving them less than two seconds to clear the room. Barton immediately launched himself at the younger man, knocking the arrowhead from Jeff's hand and taking them both to the ground. His momentum carried them to the far wall and partially behind a workbench just as the entire room erupted in flames.

The smoke hung thick in the air as Barton shook his head trying to rid it of the cobwebs; he loved explosions just not when they were that up close and personal. He looked down at the body beneath him, not surprised to find the younger man only half conscious.

The archer patted his cheek none to gently, "hey, you with me?"

"Ow."

"Yeah, that about covers it," Clint gave him a small smile. "Let's get you sitting up."

All color drained from Adams's face as Barton hauled him into an upright position. "I think I'm gunna be sick."

Clint almost missed the quite mumble over the ringing in his own ears, "right, do that over there."

"Clint?"

"Over here Tasha. We're fine-" he was interrupted by the sound of Adams retching next to him. "- for the most part anyway."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the support so far. Reviews are much appreciated.**

**Snippet #1C:  
**

**Forty-eight hours later and his concussion-induced headache was just starting to fade, the idea of writing his resignation fading right along with it. In truth, things could have turned out a lot worse than they did; he could have killed himself and Agent Barton. But Jeff was a glass half full type of guy so he was thanking his lucky stars that Agent Barton's quick reflexes had saved them from receiving anything more than scrapes, bruises and a mild concussion in his case. And really, it wasn't Agent Barton's fault that some new recruit had pissed Agent Romanoff enough that she came to take it out on Agent Barton.**

"Could you lend me a hand?"

Adams physically flinched before turning to find Captain Rogers poking his head out of the nearest doorway. "Uh, sorry Sir, but I really need to be getting to-"

Rogers rolled his eyes, "Son, I just need you to hold the door open while I move these crates into the hall."

"That's it? Just hold the door?" he peered past Captain Rogers to see five very large, very heavy looking metal crates lining the walls of the room.

Steve raised an eyebrow at the younger man's odd behavior. "Yes, just hold the door."

"Oh, alright, I suppose that can't hurt."

So he held the door.

It was easy, no chance of getting hurt, and Captain Rogers was moving quickly and efficiently despite the obvious weight of the crates.

Adams breathed a sigh of relief as Rogers dropped the last crate in the hall. He released the door letting it swing shut behind him, ready to hurry down the hall before the Captain could find anything more dangerous to do.

"Don't let that close!"

Jeff reacted on instinct to the commanding voice. He shoved his foot out, barely squeezing it between the door jam and the heavy door, and received two crunched toes for his effort. He will deny to his dying day that the resulting high-pitched, girly scream could have possibly come from his mouth.

Steve covered his amused smirk with a concerned look. "That looks painful, Son. Would you like me to help you to the infirmary?"

"No- no, I'm good," Adams managed in a voice that was still an octave higher than it should have been. He quickly hobbled down the hall, avoiding putting any weight on his damaged toes while trying to put as much space as possible between himself and the American icon.

That resignation wasn't sounding like such a bad idea anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

******Thanks for all the support so far, I especially appreciate your reviews. This snippet was the basis for rule #2, but not all of these will be in order. Please let me know if you like these enough for me to keep going.**

******Snippet #2:**

Agent Rick Parsons fired until his weapon clicked empty. He cleared the weapon expertly before moving in for a closer inspection of his grouping. He frowned angrily at the two holes stubbornly residing a half centimeter outside the bullseye. It took more than two hands to count the number of times he'd qualified expert, but he'd yet to reach that ultimate goal of putting a full clip into the bullseye. With a frustrated growl he grabbed for another target, freezing as he realized it was the last one.

EVERYONE knew that you didn't take the last target; even the maintenance staff knew to leave at least one- not that they were an ordinary maintenance crew.

Quickly dropping the target, Parsons jogged down the hall to the supply cabinet, hoping against hope that there were extras someone had just forgotten to put in the range. He gave up after ransacking the entire closet for a full five minutes. No doubt about it, there was only one firearm target left on the entire helicarrier; now he just had to decide if it was worth his life.

He was so close to his goal that he could taste it.

Seriously, what were that chances that Agent Romanoff was going to come down for practice in the twenty-four hours it would take him to get more targets up here.

With that in mind, he hung up the last target and mentally prepared himself to achieve his goal. Releasing a slow breath, Rick began putting bullets in the center of the target in quick succession. Half way through the clip he refused to let his mind focus on the fact that he hadn't missed yet-

"Ah-hmm"

Parsons jerked in surprise at the sudden sound, his last round embedding itself in the outer most ring of the target.

"Is that the last target?"

Rick didn't need to turn around to identify the anger-tinged voice. This was so not his day. "Uh yeah, sorry Agent Romanoff, I'd thought I'd be able to restock before you got here." He tried to give her a sheepish smile to soften the blow.

It didn't work.

Natasha's glare intensified, "You knew this was the last target before you started?"

What he wouldn't give for an alien invasion or a summons to Fury's office right now. Unfortunately, neither happened in the four minutes that Agent Romanoff continued to stare at him without blinking.

"Ah, yeah," He winced as Romanoff casually un-holstered one of her pistols, "which is why I'm headed to the mainland right now to get some more."

Natasha smothered a smirk as the other agent practically sprinted from the range. While she was pissed, the majority of her reputation around base was simply a result of the enjoyment she gained from messing with people. Still she had planned on getting some practice in today… which left her the options of waiting for Agent Parsons to return or confiscating some of Clint's targets.

And she really didn't want to wait the twelve hours it would take Parsons to return with more firearm targets.

She knew Clint was going to laugh at her no matter what so she might as well see if she could at least make him jump a little.

"BARTON!"

She was three feet away when the ball of flames and debris erupted from the open door. Instinctively, Natasha dropped to the floor and covered her head with her arms. She lay like that for several minutes trying to process what in the hell had just happened. While explosions weren't unheard of in the helicarrier, they weren't exactly commonplace. And surprisingly enough, the armory was one of the rarest locations. Fear gripped her heart when she thought of her partner, her best friend, trapped in the still smoking room. Wary of anymore immanent explosions, Romanoff slowly inched toward the burnt out shell of the doorway; she breathed a sigh of relief upon recognizing the timber of the quite voice emanating from the ruined armory.

"Clint?"

"Over here Tasha. We're fine-" his voice was interrupted by the sound of quiet retching "- for the most part anyway."

Natasha moved slowly into the room, following the sound of his voice. She found him sitting against the wall next to a younger agent who was still dry heaving in the corner. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

Clint just shook his head, dislodging some ash in the process. "You mind calling medical? I think Agent Adams here just might have a concussion." He winked as the unlucky man in question threw up again.

Ten minutes later Adams was being helped to the infirmary with a spot diagnosis of a mild concussion and bruised shoulder while Barton was sifting through his arrowheads trying to determine if any were salvageable. "So you going to tell me what prompted you to bellow so loudly that Adams accidently activated one of my explosive tips?"

Natasha had the decency to look sheepish; "some wanna-be Hawkeye used the last firearm target… so I was going to borrow some of your archery ones."

She flashed him another sheepish smile even as she pulled open the relatively undamaged cabinet that held the targets she'd been hunting and disappeared from the room. "Have fun cleaning up," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

The clean up of his beloved armory took several hours, but it only took Clint all of five minutes to hack into the security footage from the firearm range and find out who was responsible for Natasha's sour mood and the resulting property damage. Therefore he was waiting when Agent Parsons stepped off the mainland transport carrying half a dozen boxes of targets.

Rick was exhausted. He'd been finishing up his "day" with a little target practice then tacked on a ten-hour trip to the mainland; all he wanted right now was a hot shower and his bed. That's why his heart sank when he saw Barton leaning against the wall of the hanger. There was no question the sniper was there for him; Barton and Romanoff had each other's backs in every sense of the word, and he had pissed off Romanoff, which meant that by extension, he'd pissed off Barton too.

"Parsons, with me."

The other agent didn't bother to argue, it would just make things harder for him in the long run. He dejectedly followed Barton to the largest of the three shooting ranges where he was finally allowed to drop the targets he'd been hauling around. Rick took a brief second to scan the range; a dozen life-sized targets sat on rails running the width of the room; he gulped audibly as his apprehension suddenly skyrocketed. This was not going to end well for him.

Clint crossed his well-muscled arms across his chest, studying his pray; the other man already looked defeated. "You are responsible, albeit indirectly, for costing me half of my stock of new explosive tips. Therefore, I no longer have enough tips to run both a stationary and moving target tests and as you can imagine I'm significantly more interested in how these do against a moving target." He smirked as Parsons's eyes widened in comprehension. He couldn't resist a final jab, "your mission, should you choose to accept it- and I highly suggest you do, is to keep those targets moving. You stop before I'm finished and you don't want to know what mission Fury and Hill will assign you next."

Rick's head snapped up with a look of sheer panic.

"Yes, I have that much power," although he was snickering on the inside he managed to keep a complete flat affect on the outside. "Oh, by the way, since I haven't run a stationary test, I have no idea how these tips will fly. So watch yourself," he advised stoically.

* * *

On the opposite end of the helicarrier, Tony Stark caught a handful of popcorn in his mouth. "Genius! Who knew our little Legolas could be so devious."

"Indeed," rumbled Thor, snagging his own handful of popcorn.

Steve wrung his hands nervously before turning to Natasha, "he was just kidding about not knowing how'd they fly… right?

"No," the remaining Avengers answered together as they watched Parsons sprint around the range dodging minor explosions.

* * *

**He He, these guys are way too much fun to write.**


	7. Chapter 7

******This one is a little shorter and a mix of rules #6 and #14. Thanks again for all the support. Please read and review. :)**

******Snippet #3:**

Maria Hill growled audibly at the obnoxious banging on the door to her private quarters; it was her day off dammit. Determined to enjoy her rare R & R, Hill snuggled deeper into her chair and tried to re-focus on her book. Unfortunately, whoever was at her door was persistent and she realized that she'd get sick of the noise long before they gave up the pounding. Giving into her petulant mood, Maria stomped across the room and nearly ripped the door off its hinges. "WHAT?"

Oblivious to her sour mood, the agent at her door instantly began babbling, "Oh, thank God you're home. They're so going to kill me; they're still pissed about the firearm targets and they blame me for Barton's armory blowing, and now this there's no way I'll see tomorrow if you don't help me."

Hill raised an eyebrow. She'd only caught every third word, but that was enough to know that this was Agent Rick Parsons who was still numero uno on the Avengers' hit list. "Parsons, stop." She waited for him to take an actual breath, "what did you do this time?"

Rick suddenly found his shoes very interesting, "I-uh-accidentally-took-the-last-of-the-coffee-and-coco-puffs."

Maria took a second to decipher the mumbled confession. Yup, no doubt about it, he was a dead man. "Coffee and Coco Puffs? What are you, suicidal? Didn't you learn anything from last week?"

Parsons had the decency to look sheepish.

"Well, you'll learn from this. I'll save your ass this time;" she cut off his gratitude with a raise hand, "don't ask how, it's above you're pay grade. In return, you will personally inventory every piece of ammunition, linens, food stuffs, targets and emergency equipment and present me with a detailed report."

Rick sputtered, "that'll take forever! No way I'm-"

"Or I can simply tell everyone who's to blame for Dr. Banner going ape shit when he goes for his daily Coco Puffs break 20 minutes from now and finds out they're gone."

Parsons suddenly found himself wanting to cooperate fully, "did you want that in an excel spreadsheet?"


	8. Chapter 8

******Hi all, thanks again for the support. I do have a few more of these ideas, but I'll probably be pretty slow in getting the posted due to an impending move. This one is for rule #7. Please read and review.**

******Snippet # 4:**

"There's no way she bought that."

"Of course she did; women love the mystery surrounding any of the three-letter agencies. Just because no one knows about the super-secret agency I work for doesn't mean I shouldn't get a piece of the action."

"So you picked her up last night with the promise of a romantic weekend in bed, then leave a note about an agency emergency at five am this morning, and can probably still hit that next weekend if you play your cards right. Dude, I don't know whether to be impressed or sickened."

Agent Thomas Franks grinned at his dinner companion as he munched on his favorite collared greens, "what can I say, I'm the master of the one night stand."

"You know that's not really something you should aspire to."

The quietly condemning voice had both Agents turning to their left and looking straight into the face of good 'ole Captain America himself. Franks cringed inwardly; everyone knew the super soldier held fiercely to his 1940's-bred ideals; meaning that their last conversation was probably not well received.

Captain Steve Rogers had tried to convince himself over and over that he lived in 2012 now and therefore couldn't apply his ethics in the same way he used to. That in and of itself grated on his nerves like nothing else. How had the world changed/lost so much that this was acceptable dinnertime conversation?

"Son, where I grew up, you didn't plot ways to trick women into bed with you. Women were treated with respect and courtesy." Steve could feel himself gathering steam; normally he would have settled for quietly glaring at the two men but he could only keep silent for so long and this just happened to be the last straw. He barely registered his words as his volume rose to a shout; it wasn't long before the entire dining hall was staring but he just couldn't bring himself to care. Rogers's voice was hoarse and silence reigned by the time he'd decided that his point had been made and he exited the room with his head held high.

Franks wanted to shrivel up and die right there; he hadn't received a dressing down like that since he was a dumb-assed 18-year old kid going through Army basic training. Even the kitchen staff was openly glaring at him. Even though the Avengers only spent about two weeks of every month on the helicarrier; Captain Rogers was WELL liked by everyone and it really didn't due to piss him off. But Tom had managed to do just that and apparently in a very big way, he could expect to have many scathing looks sent his way over the next few days as the gossip spread.

The gossip spread quickly but the glares also receded quickly. Now, two days later, he only had two issues left. One, the kitchen hadn't served his favorite collared greens in the last two days- unusual since the staff had always assured him they'd be served at every meal except breakfasts. His second problem, every where he'd gone lately, he'd run straight into Captain American who was still wearing his best kicked puppy expression. The other man's depression un-nerved Franks enough that he cut his workout short in favor of a hot shower and the solitude of his own quarters.

He started the shower, turning the knob all the way to scalding before undressing and brushing his teeth. The mirror was completely steamed over by the time he finished and stepped into the small shower cubical. He'd just dunked his head under the stream when it changed from just the right side of blistering to ice cold in the blink of an eye. Tom jumped reflexively at the changed, landed on the edge of the shower curtain and hit the tiled floor of the bathroom- hard. He lay there for a minute, catching his breath and willing his shocked nerve endings into submission. Gently gaining his feet, Franks moved a cautious hand toward the shower spray and was surprised to find it hot again. Hoping it had been a fluke; he stepped back under the spray and resumed his routine. Five minutes later he was jumping from underneath the freezing cold spray again.

Deciding any further attempts at showering would be hazardous to his heath, Tom toweled off and went straight to bed.

* * *

"Are you sure you guys want someone who gives up that easily as a member of S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Tony Stark grinned at the red-head next to him.

"Very nice Stark. Just be a little more careful next time, we do need all of our Agents in working order."

"Fine, fine, I'll make it gradual tomorrow," Tony grumbled.

They replayed the footage for the rest of the team several times, laughing hysterically at the fish-out-of-water look on Franks' face every time he hit the bathroom floor.

Natasha glanced to her left, well aware of her partner's sudden movements. "Clint?"

Hawkeye returned her look innocently while shifting the paintball gun to his right hand so he could easily remove the air vent cover with his left. "What? Stark shouldn't be the only one allowed to have some fun; I'm Steve's friend too."

Banner just shook his head with a smile, "are we going to do this every time someone pisses one of us off?"

"Of course."

* * *

**P.S. reviews make me write faster...**


	9. Chapter 9

******This one is for Rule #4. It's fairly short, but oddly enough I think it might be one of my favorites. Thanks for the support so far, and as always please read and review.**

******Snippet #5:**

Thor stared hard at the dish of left-overs in his hand before switching his determined gaze back to one of the microwaves lining the counter. He knew Banner had told him something about putting food into the strange heating device, but there had been pop tarts involved so he'd been unable to concentrate on any instructions the doctor had been giving. He looked up hopefully when someone else entered the kitchen; unfortunately it the one teammate that would be of little help.

"Good Evening Thor," Rogers greeted cheerfully.

"And a good evening to you, Steve." It had taken him quite awhile to get used to calling his teammates by there first names when not in battle. "Do you have knowledge of these waves of micro? I would like to heat this lasagna that Clint made for us last night."

Steve scratched his head lightly, "well, I think you just put the food in there and push some of the buttons depending on what you want to heat up. Sorry Thor, guess I'm not very much help, I'm still learning this stuff too."

Opening the microwave door turned out to be the first challenge as there was no handle. Shrugging, Thor grasped the bottom of the door and pulled. He succeeded in opening the door; unfortunately, he also succeeded in completely separating the door from the microwave.

Rogers couldn't help but laugh as the demi-God turned to him with a bewildered look. "I think one of the buttons opens the door."

"Oh," Thor peered closely at the microwave next to the one he had just ruined. "Now I see." He grinned as the door popped open easily. He placed the tin foil covered container on the center of the small turn-table, gently closed the door and made a close inspection of the button labels. "I believe I shall try the 'reheat' button.

Steve nodded encouragingly.

The popping started almost immediately.

The two friends watched in amazement at the blue lightning display taking place in the small appliance.

"Um, Thor?"

"Yes?"

"Run. Now."

Two of Earth's mightiest superheroes cleared the kitchen door just before the microwave exploded spectacularly.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey all, sorry updating is taking so long. This snippet is for rule #15 (see below), it will likely end up being 2-3 installments. As always thanks for the support; please read and review.

15. Do not tell Director Fury about Agent Barton's cat. She's as sharp as her owner, will do serious damage if she doesn't like you but is the best therapy in the world if she does.

******Snippet #6: **

Agent Aiden Matthews shuffled into the kitchenette, his entire demeanor screaming 'must have coffee!' He grabbed for a mug with half closed eyes, managing to catch one on the third pass and poured himself a cup from the luke-warm pot. It was then that he noticed the small grey mouse sitting on the counter next to the coffee pot.

"Bah!"

He swept the mouse off the counter top with the mug, succeeding in spilling coffee everywhere and promptly stomped on the animal. The comically high-pitched squeak finally registered after his third stomp. "What the hell?" He muttered quietly, stooping to pick up what he now realized was obviously a toy. Matthews gave it an experimental squeeze and was rewarded with another small squeak. What in the hell was a cat's toy doing aboard the helicarrier?

Aiden was still staring at the small toy when a solid weight landed on his shoulder and immediately sank it's claws in. For the second time that morning, Matthews found himself dancing around the kitchenette and screaming like a teenaged girl.

Maria Hill watched with extreme amusement from the doorway; Artemis always did have a way of announcing her presence. The little black and white furball hung determinedly to Matthews's shoulder despite his best efforts to dislodge her. The epic battle might have continued indefinitely had Agent Hill not heard Director Fury's voice floating down the hallway. Maria reacted on instinct, launching herself into the room, she grabbed Artemis with one protective hand and threw a shoulder into Aiden's midsection propelling him into the pantry she had just opened with her other hand. She pulled the door shut behind them and slapped a hand over the other agent's mouth to muffle his shout of protest.

Only when she was sure that Fury was well past the kitchenette did she remove her hand from Aiden's mouth and her forearm from his chest. "Agent Matthews, meet Artemis," she gestured to the kitten who was now demurely perched on her shoulder, giving herself a bath. "She belongs to Agent Barton and under absolutely no circumstances is Director Fury to know of her existence. Understood?"

Aiden was still trying to figure out how his nice quite cup of coffee had ended up with him shoved into a closet with Fury's right-hand women. Finally his eyes were drawn to the small- and as much as he hated to admit it, adorable, kitten glaring at him from Hill's shoulder. That calculating, detached look clicked when he registered Maria telling him that the cat belonged to Barton.

"How…" shaking his head Matthews quickly decided he didn't want to know how Barton had managed to sneak the kitten onto the helicarrier without Fury finding out; it was called plausible deniability. He tried again, "how in the hell does Fury not know about her?"

Hill graced him with a genuine smile as she tickled Artemis's chin, "she's as elusive as her owner, likes high places, and she usually uses the air ducts to move around. Plus, I think she knows Fury means trouble; I've seen her actively avoid the Director several times."

Matthews reached a tentative hand toward the small cat, jerking it back quickly as she quietly hissed at him. "Yeah, Barton doesn't like me much either. So what, she followed him home or something?"

"Yeah, from Prague. Barton had completed the mission but it completely blew up in his face…

* * *

Next installment will contain how Barton met Artemis...


	11. Chapter 11

**Snippet 6B: This is a continuation of the last Chapter pertaining to rule #15: Do not tell Director Fury about Agent Barton's cat. Sorry for the long delay; moving to a different country is surprisingly time consuming. Please let me know what you think.**

**From the last chapter:**

"So what, she followed him home or something?"

"Yeah, from Prague. Barton had completed the mission but it completely blew up in his face…"

* * *

***Flashback***

Simple, in and out mission. Yeah right, he really needed to get people to stop calling them that. First of all, there was significantly more security than the intel had led them to believe meaning that it had taken him an extra thirty minutes to reach his perch and the meeting had been halfway over by the time he arrived. It had been a simple matter to take out Karkow and Adamik, but the speed of security's reaction was ridiculously fast. Usually, when you cut the head off the snake the body takes awhile to catch up, not this time. Shots were pinging off the roof at his feet by the time he'd made it ten yards from his vantage point. How they'd pin-pointed his location so fast was a complete mystery. He felt the first bullet graze his forearm as he made the jump to a second rooftop.

"Hey Coulson, any chance of moving up that extraction timeline?"

"I'll see what I can do Hawkeye. What's your situation?"

Phil's calm voice filtering through his earpiece was as comforting as ever. "I kicked up a good sized hornet's nest and unfortunately these fucking hornets have fully automatic weapons. Don't think they're going to stop at the boundary so the extraction point may be compromised." Adamik's compound was known to take up sixteen city blocks in a run-down neighborhood of Prague. The original extraction point was two blocks beyond the boundary; but it was going to take Clint a hell of a lot longer than two blocks to lose these guys considering they were doing their damnedest to crawl right up his ass. The original timeline also called for him to hole up for a couple hours to let things quiet down. That wasn't going to happen any time soon either.

Jumping another roof, he turned mid-air and loosed two arrows at his pursuers. Twin grunts told him his arrows had both found their target. He continued running as Phil's voice chirped in his ear once again.

"Hawkeye?"

"Still here," Clint replied somewhat breathlessly.

"Not looking good on that quick extraction. The team will do what they can, but they're too far out to get to you quickly and having to dodge Adamik's men will slow them down as well. Make sure your locator is on."

Clint spared a quick movement to activate the small sensor on the underside of his arm brace. "Done."

Clint slowly whittled down his adversaries as the chase ranged across Prague, but it was taking too long and some of their shots were coming a little too close for comfort. One lucky shot in particular had bore a rather large hole through his left shoulder making his bow nearly impossible to draw with that arm. Like all men of his skill level, Barton was ambidextrous but he wasn't nearly as accurate with his right while on the move. And he was the definition of "hauling ass" right now. Given the current speed with which he was pulling away it would only be another minute or two before he could safely duck into a hiding spot. Making good use of his exceptional distance vision, Clint spotted the darkened corner of a dumpster filled alley that would serve his needs. While the dumpsters them selves were shrouded in shadow the surrounding area was well lit with street lamps that would easily kill his pursuer's night vision.

Two roofs ahead and one to the left, Barton let himself drop between the buildings using the fire escape to slow his descent. Unfortunately for Clint, fire escapes in Prague were not nearly as well regulated as in the States and the railing came away in his hand. A grunted "fuck!" escaped him as fire lanced through his ankle when he landed on the unforgiving concrete.

"Hawkeye?"

"I'll live."

He grunted again and swore in every language he knew as he tested the ankle's weight baring capacity. It was a damn good thing he'd found his hiding spot because he wasn't going to get much further on that ankle.

As quietly as possible he slid into the narrow space between two dumpsters. The smell was absolutely nauseating; although that might not be such a bad thing considering it was helping him take his mind off the pain from his various injuries. He took a second to inventory himself and his weapons status, not liking what he found. The gunshot wound in his shoulder was still bleeding profusely, he had numerous other cuts and bruises from flying debris and he could already feel his ankle swelling rapidly in the confines of his boot. His weapons weren't fairing any better. His bow was still intact but he was down to four arrows, he only had one of his three throwing knives left and his thigh holster was mysteriously empty.

Barton stiffened suddenly as his sensitive hearing picked up the faint noises of men headed his way. Without making a sound he attempted to become one with the brick wall and the back of the dumpster.

"Meow."

The quiet sound seemed to explode in his ear, but it was only his well-adjusted night vision that let him see the small black and white ball of fur that he'd nearly squashed with his movements.

"Meow."

Clint had been around animals enough in the circus to know that their "calls" had various tones. This tone definitely said 'pay attention to me or I'm going to keep making noise'; which was unacceptable considering how close the voices were getting. As quickly and gently as possible, he snatched the kitten from the ground and held her close to his chest. She squeaked in protest at first but surprisingly enough seemed to understand when he hushed her.

They sat like that, frozen in silence for what seemed like an eternity as three of Adamik's men entered the alley. Just as Clint had hoped, they complained about their ruined night vision as they did a cursory inspection of the area. Barton held his breath as they inched closer to his hiding spot, his right hand gripping a throwing knife and his bow at the ready beside him. As always, Barton had chosen well and his patience paid off when the men left the alley without spotting him and his furry companion.

Barton finally let his aching left arm fall from the kitten's back, expecting her to scamper away as quickly as her small legs could carry her. However, she elected to stay put, watching him with intelligent and quizzical eyes. Clint chuckled softly and tickled her under the chin; he was rewarded with a loud purr. "Guess I owe you a thank you."

"You're welcome, but what for?

"Wasn't actually talking to you, Coulson."

"Do I want to know?"

"Nope.

"Okey then. You clear for extraction? The team can be there in ten."

Barton debated telling Phil that he would mostly likely be unconscious by then but decided against it. There was no point in making him worry. "Yeah, I'm clear. Locator's on."

"Right, well let me know if you do start talking to me."

"Will do."

He hurt everywhere. Clint knew he should make an effort to stop the blood flow from his shoulder but he just didn't have the energy. His furry friend was still parked on his chest and didn't appear to be planning to move anytime soon. Barton figured he was probably quite a bit warmer than the concrete ground on this cool October night. He felt his own strength being sapped further by the cold.

"Alright kid, your turn to take watch," he mumbled quietly enough that Phil wouldn't hear him. She seemed to take his charge seriously as she turned in a 180 and sat erect slightly lower on his stomach. Clint laughed breathlessly and laid a hand on her back, "You would have made a good archer: patient, silent and strong."

That was how the extraction team found them ten minutes later; Barton out cold, slouched against the wall and a tiny furball standing watch on his stomach. After a round of raised eyebrows, one of the men moved forward toward Clint and the kitten, "well isn't that just adorable. Anyone got a camera for blackmail pictures?" He reached a hand out but retracted it quickly when it was met with a loud hiss and sharply clawed paw. Several of the others tried with the same result; that kitten wasn't going to let them anywhere near Hawkeye without a fight.

"Aye Barton, wake up and call off your guard dog." The man nudged Clint's foot; it didn't quite get the response he was looking for. Barton jerked awake crying out in agony as pain stabbed through his ankle; the kitten reacted to his cry by springing forward and slicing through the leg of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. "Shit, looks like we've got a feline version of Romanoff on our hands."

"Just don't let Tasha hear you say that." Clint collected his new friend and allowed the extraction team to field dress his wounds before they headed to safety. Eventually they got the archer onto his one good foot and moved towards the waiting van. The kitten followed closely behind, not wanting to let Barton out of her sight. One of the agents moved to shoo her away but Clint stopped him, "bring the cat."

"Seriously?"

Clint didn't bother to verbalize an answer, but the look on his face said it all.

"Would love to be a fly on the wall when Fury finds out about this."

"Don't worry, he won't," Barton promised.


End file.
